Received a dvd of the family home movies. Old ones, starting in the late 50’s. Everyone wearing suits and skinny ties at house parties. Women with dark lipstick and short curled bobs, high heels and broaches. Gorgeous times.

Many of the people I did not recognize as they were my parents friends before I was born. One person in particular I just by chance recognized was my mother. She was absolutely, stunningly gorgeous. It could have been Elizabeth Taylor in her heyday smiling and waving in that clunky old film. Breathtakingly gorgeous, laughing and charming everyone around her. Dangly earrings, perfect lipstick. An elegant party in the beautiful giant century home they used to own, before I was born.

I don’t ever recall her having fun or laughing around us. Nor do I recall such beauty and charm. I do recall her hate and anger and her vicious words. That’s what I free associate about home. An overweight, miserable woman who hated everyone, bought friends from church with $50 bills and ‘divorced’ her kids because, well, actually I never did hear why she was divorcing us. She heard about it on some afternoon tv show and that was that.

No hard feelings, that was when Dad died 6 or 7 years ago. In fact I so seldom think of her that maybe that’s another reason I almost didn’t recognize her.

This morning’s free association makes me wonder what she would think of now, when presented with the word ‘Home’.

I try very hard to remain optimistic and upbeat at all times. And I *do* mean try because some days I just don’t feel like it. It being the minor irritations that cloud the big picture.

I don’t usually give up on the big picture stuff, in fact I can’t recall the last time I did. (Although I’m sure I have because no one’s life is that perfect.)

I will tell you, that despite the Zen notion of before enlightenment chop wood, carry water and after enlightenment chop wood, carry water, on this particular day I am sick of simply cleaning up.

When I was alone it was one plate, one fork, one cup. Then with two it was my stuff and your stuff, meaning less tidiness. Then alone came the third and rest assured, the smallest one makes the biggest mess… and can’t clean it all up alone.

So I throw the towel in… into the washer along with everything and anything else because at this point, who cares? I throw the dishes in…. into the sink because the dishwashing machine hasn’t worked properly in about 3 years and is now a storage facility for glass jars, potato chips, fish food. When I reported to the 2nd one that the dishwasher wasn’t working, the response was that *I* didn’t know how to work it properly. Operator error. Despite the fact that I was able to operate the dishwasher without any problem for 10 years… ready to throw the towel in on that one too.

Faith. Hope. The Internet. What would it mean if I had faith in my ability to establish a blog? Would it mean that I was somehow riding on the coat tails of some higher-order being somewhere? Because my abilities would somehow be a result of the blessings and curses somehow bestowed upon me? Somehow? Somewhere? Let’s hope that however it truly does happen in the before or here or afterlife that Some is kind.